


and who lives

by LakeLadoga (Ladoga)



Category: Amenta - Alicorn, Glowfic and Related Works, in color (glowfic)
Genre: Alternate Universe, Gen, Mentions of death but no actual death scenes, fictional oppression, royals who actually do something, small mentions of torture
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-10-25
Updated: 2017-10-25
Packaged: 2019-01-22 18:52:04
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,190
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12488516
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Ladoga/pseuds/LakeLadoga
Summary: He wonders sometimes what it might be like to do the work of government with regular constraints.But these are his people and so this is his work.





	and who lives

**Author's Note:**

> [in color can be found here](https://glowfic.com/posts/803) and [information about the world it takes place in can be found here](https://alicorn.elcenia.com/board/viewtopic.php?f=4&t=588&sid=68426690253298b71cf4acc640cba9ed). A lot of the main characters are au versions of Silmarillion characters but it can be read with no Silmarillion knowledge.
> 
>  _This_ story takes place in a _different_ alternate universe where a like-reds-in-some-respects group has a royal family the government at large uses for interfacing with and occasionally as focus people for expressions of displeasure.

He wonders sometimes what it might be like to do logistics with regular constraints. So-and-so much resources, so-and-so much need, such-and-such people. Not the other constant circumscriptions - work distributed as it can be without anyone appearing idle too much; readiness to take on elevated load without impression that they need more work. Or less people. Needs satisfied as they can be without anyone appearing too rich, too complacent, without impression of surplus (real surplus there never is. The two, he learned early, are not the same.) Born in a different universe to a different people, he supposes he might know. But these are his people and so this is his work.

The summons comes while he is in what he calls his office. Much of the time there is no reason for his appearance in person (which is, altogether, preferable to the times when there is). News that his family does not answer for personally might be delivered as electronically as the summons. But, of course, it is not. He always works such that he can leave at moment’s notice. Such that a successor could make use of it, if he disappears, such that someone in the interim could make use of it, if he disappears in the more time-limited sense.

He redresses - not so roughly that it is disrespectful, not so well that the ‘royal family’ will be said to be getting above themselves. Ties his hair up in its net; leaves a message for whatever person is on duty to spread it to the others (It’s Kiala. Her wife is pregnant and there’s a shortage of equipment… He draws up redistributions in his head, clears it. Walks through the door and across the street and into the tunnel.)

The room on the other side is empty. He stops on his side of the barrier, and bows, and remains that way. Between this and chastisement for keeping someone waiting, this is preferable. It is half an hour before the other door opens.

 

Someone in district 5 robbed a supply warehouse. They are gracious enough to show him some of the evidence, enough that it is likely no scapegoating mistake, this day. Small mercies, in some sense. They want the thief, of course. The story, for assurance. Any collaborators. He has half of a day. He gives his enumerated apologies and thanks them for their wisdom and forbearance and attempts to determine if pleas are likely to be productive (with this event and these people they are not. He does not voice any.)

 

Kan is waiting for him by the car. The news must have gone out by other channels, while he was receiving it. “I think they’ll take just the thief if we can find them,” he says without preamble. Kan nods, starts pulling up plans while they sit in the car. He leans against him without comment on it, takes a moment with his forehead against his husband’s shoulder. This too, he’s learned by now.

 

He wonders sometimes what investigation is like under regular constraints. Except when doing it; then he might wonder if it is still this excruciating. More than half his family has asked him by now, in their own ways, if he could delegate, maybe. A few more he has headed off before they could ask, or suggest. And his hair may be red but he is a prince and he does not say that he would like nothing better, would trade out lashes and snapped fingers without regret. (It is a weakness, but it will not serve his people more to be dishonest to himself about it.) He cannot. He does not have protection to offer his people. No presumption of innocence, no assurance that next time he will have half a day for this work again, that the next thief won’t be the storekeeper’s second cousin and pleas will still be useless and they won’t have to turn someone over still.

To sort the guilty from the innocent, when there are guilty, to sort whatever else might need sorting and can be sorted - that is what he can give them. So he does.

 

The first woman to sit across the table from him is lying. “He was going to  _die_ ,” she says. ”He was sick and we had the money like it fucking  _matters_.” (That part is true.) And she grits her teeth and has tears in her eyes and looks down and sideways at the table corner, and she is lying. ( _I wish you’d come to us_ , he does not say.  _We would have tried, we might have organized_ … Because it is not the time, not at all. Because he cannot promise that there would have been anything.)

“Was it your brother?” It’s less than an instant that her eyes dart up, widen. “If you want to die for him, you can. We won’t stop you. But I need to know.”

 

Afterwards, Kan comes in. Will talk her through the rest of it - turning-over, and transport, and interrogation if it’s bothered with. And the last part doesn’t usually need instructions, but some people have questions. ( _Yes we can have your cousin-in-law come for the body. Yes, we can send someone else instead, if you prefer. Non-violent crimes is bullet, back of the head. They say it doesn’t hurt much._ )

He goes to talk to the brother. The brother, and his wife, and the parents, and a look at the not-dead grandchild. If the other death cannot be turned away, an interfamily feud might still be. Is worth averting, still. (That one, he thinks, he might have been born into knowing). He’s back in time to watch Kan leave the building. (The other car will leave the building also, later. He knows what it looks like; it doesn’t matter very much, if he watches).

He walks through the tunnel again, ten hours after leaving it. (Too long and they might be impatient. Too short and they will think he does not need the time, next time.) Bows, gives his report. No conspiracy, no collaboration. One thief. Selfish. He is sorry. They are sorry. They are grateful.

 

After, he wanders through the district. Stops at houses, smiles at elders in their seats, at children in the street. What do you need, what can we do, did your husband make her that dress, will you be dancing at the Turning again. (Tomorrow he will walk through district 5.)

Kan meets him again at their door. Familiar glances, words not needed for it again. _Maybe someday. If we talk enough, if we know everyone enough. Head things off before they happen_. It is, he thinks, as Kan knows he thinks, about as possible as supplying a dozen medical stations with supply kits for half that many. When it is a good day. But he is a prince and these are their people. So of course they work

He goes back to the office, and the distribution plans on the desk wait.  His phone got its courtesy note. Perfunctory interrogation, no surprises, it’s done. He sits back at the table and draws the papers to himself again.

**Author's Note:**

> Title comes from a quote I found on the quotes page for [TV Tropes's The Chains of Commanding](http://tvtropes.org/pmwiki/pmwiki.php/Quotes/TheChainsOfCommanding), though the rest of the quote does not actually suit.
>
>> "You bet I'm 'tired!' You bet! I'm tired of being responsible for two hundred and three lives and I'm tired of deciding which mission is too risky and which isn't and who's going on the landing party and who doesn't. And who lives... and who dies."  
> —Captain Pike to his doctor, Star Trek: The Original Series, "The Cage"


End file.
